


I'm awful just to see

by caimani



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Disabled Character, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4489779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caimani/pseuds/caimani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a genetic disorder that runs in families. There’s a 50% chance of passing it on to each of your children. Mikey is a part of the lucky half. Gerard is not so lucky.</p><p>  <em>Hyperelasticity sounds like a superpower when he’s not hearing it in a medical context.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm awful just to see

**Turn**

Gerard hates the word _disabled_ when people use it to describe him. It’s like a fucking pillow that abled people try to use to _handle_ him, like he’s going to shatter if they’re not overly sensitive. ‘Be careful with the _disabled_ kid.’ ‘Don’t make him carry too many heavy things.’ ‘Don’t mention the support braces and don’t look at them.’ ‘Smile and ask him how he’s feeling.’ ‘Give him a break.’

How insulting.

He’ll only accept the word when it comes out of his own mouth. Mikey tells him that he’s being self-depreciative. Gerard tells him no, it’s making light of a shitty situation that he can’t change. It’s fun. When he hasn’t yet reached the point where he feels like his own body is ripping his joints to pieces, he bends his fingers and wrists at impossible angles. He pinches the skin on the back of his hand and pulls it up to an inch away from the bones, then watches in fascination as the skin snaps back into place. He imagines himself as a zombie or a superhero with elastic powers.

After all, _hyperelasticity_ sounds like a superpower when he’s not hearing it in a medical context.

**Away**

It doesn’t take long for Gerard to realize that the repetitive motion of playing a guitar—or playing drums—wears on his joints too much. It strains the small amount of collagen that exists in his wrists and fingers, leading to aches worse than the ones he used to get in gym class (on the days that the teachers decided that Ehlers-Danlos syndrome wasn’t enough of a disability to warrant sitting out on whatever new torture they thought up).

The day he starts to dawn on that discovery, Gerard locks himself in his room with the guitar and tries to play without his braces on until his median nerves are pinching agonizingly against his bones. He suffers through six songs in the practice book before it becomes overwhelming. Then he straps a pair of braces onto his arms and lies on the bed with the guitar on his lap, waiting for the degree of pain to drop to a more manageable level.

Mikey knocks on his door. “You know you kinda suck?”

Gerard groans and pushes the guitar away so he can punch the braces against his thighs. Stupid faulty body. Feeling the solid thud of the aluminum bands in the braces is satisfying, even through the layers of cloth between them and his skin.

“Gerard?”

“I could get better,” he shouts at the door. 

Determined to prove Mikey wrong, Gerard sits up with the guitar and tries to play again, with the braces on this time. But the Velcro straps drag noisily with each movement and he’s still not finding the right frets. He doesn’t get far into the first stanza before he shoves the guitar aside again. He _does_ suck.

Maybe Mikey can try to learn how to play it instead. Or they can sell it and Gerard won’t have to look at another of his failures. Stupid damn body that doesn’t work. Stupid _disability_.

**Because**

Elena wears wrist braces just like Gerard, along with a few more for her back, ankles, and knees. Tough plastic ring splints keep her fingers from hyperextending and breaking. Gerard paints each boring tan-colored brace with miniature scenes from horror movies.

She jokes with Gerard about how their bodies are made of stringy nets and bags of wet sand. They both laugh about how they need plastic and metal strapped to their body to keep it from falling apart. 

More than anyone, she knows how useless Gerard feels.

When he brings up the guitar, Elena berates him for giving up.

“You don’t have to play guitar to be in a band. You can sing. Write music. Play the keyboard.” Gerard grimaces and Elena laughs. She taps her fingertips against his arm in an imitation of playing a piano. “Keep at it, because I want to brag to everyone how my grandsons are in an amazing band. I know you two will make it. You’re both so talented and you work so hard.”

Gerard thinks about that a lot.

**I’m**

Gerard doesn’t have his braces on when he meets Ray for the first time. He deliberately leaves them at home when he goes with Mikey to meet the guy Shawn has been telling them about.

Ray is really cool. It’s really easy to find things to like about him; to keep everyone having a good time. Gerard hopes he leaves a decent impression on him. A normal impression. It’s nice having someone think of him as a _normal_ person, albeit a bit weird and introverted. 

After that, he tries not to go out with Mikey when he’s feeling particularly shitty, just to keep up appearances. He withdraws into his room and into his art. At least he has some warning when he’s in his room and he hears Ray somewhere else in the house. He can either lock the door or take off the braces before Ray potentially sees them.

He succeeds in hiding it from Ray. But he also misses out on a lot of opportunities to build up a friendship with him.

But that’s okay. Gerard is happy making art and Mikey is happy doing his thing. Besides, brushstrokes are much gentler on his hands than writing words.

**Awful**

It’s a long time before Gerard slips up.

Otter tells Gerard that he doesn’t care “as long as you still help move the gear,” to which Gerard reassures him “I’m not an invalid; I just need these on sometimes.” Otter asks about the disorder and makes disgusted noises when Gerard playfully shows him how far his fingers and wrists can bend.

When Gerard pulls the aluminum strip out of the left brace, Otter whistles and says, “You could fuck someone up with those.”

He hands Gerard the less bulky pieces of equipment and Gerard keeps his mouth shut when the pain gets bad. He supports Mikey’s suggestion that Gerard pull the sleeves of his shirts over the black pair of braces so that nobody sees them.

“Or you could just take them off when we’re performing,” he offers. “If you don’t need them all the time.”

Gerard thinks that this might actually work.

**Just**

The first time that Gerard lets Ray see the support braces, he’s fully prepared for the inevitable questions. They’re always the same. No matter how cool and understanding a person is, they’re always curious about this _thing_.

“Did you hurt yourself?”

“No.”

“Then what’s up with your arms? Or hands?”

“I have a genetic disorder. It’s like all the pain of carpal tunnel or tendonitis, but it doesn’t go away.”

“Dude... you’re in _pain_? All the time?”

“Yeah, but I can manage it. These are here to keep me from breaking my wrists and shit by bending them too much. I don’t feel the stretch, so I don’t realize when I’m ruining my own joints.”

“Wow. That’s shitty.”

It _is_ shitty. Gerard brightens the mood by showing Ray the way his fingers pop out the wrong way and Ray thinks it’s cool and a little bit gross. After showcasing a few more interesting qualities of his defective body, Ray switches topics and they move on.

**To**

Gerard spent much of his youth split between being jealous of Mikey’s normal genes and going to Mikey to complain about the pain and humiliation of not being able to do some seemingly effortless task. Mikey is willing to listen whenever Gerard needs someone who won’t judge or pity him, but he also thinks Gerard-in-excruciating-pain is a normal occurrence.

Therefore, Gerard doesn’t expect Mikey to take note of his scowl and gritted teeth when his stubborn grip on the pen starts driving needles of damned EDS hurt into his fingers. He tries to think of a simple reason for them to take a break so that it doesn’t have to be “Hey guys, the disabled guy is starting to think that hand-amputation is a really fucking good idea right about now. Sorry this is happening at a time when we’re actually making a lot of progress. I know I’m a burden, but I can’t really force my body to cooperate when it gets like this.”

He adjusts the notebook in his hands, sets the pen down quietly, and rests his shaking fingers on the page. There’s still beer in the refrigerator and cigarettes in his pocket, so he can’t suggest a trip for either of those without Mikey calling bullshit. He could always hand over some of his precious remaining cash so they could leave to get food, but if he keeps doing that, he’ll be broke soon.

Fucking _fuck_.

Not for the first time in his life, Gerard wishes there was a way to cure genetic problems. He doesn't care what it would be, just as long as he doesn't ever have to deal with a room full of dubious stares as he explains that _no_ he's not faking it and he actually does feel that bad. 

Ray surprises him by speaking out. “You guys want to take a break? It’s starting to reek in here.” He stands up and opens one of the windows to back up his statement. Gerard catches himself gaping at Ray and quickly lowers his head and picks up his pen again.

Otter takes off right away, reaching into his pockets to dig out his lighter on his way out. Mikey heads for the door after him. Ray pushes hard at another window, which eventually gives way to the pressure and jerks open with a dull crunch.

Gerard stares blankly at his page of lyrics until Mikey and Otter have left the room. As soon as the door closes, Gerard drops the pen and the notebook on the floor.

“You need a few minutes?” Ray asks, still hovering near the window.

Gerard nods and stands up stiffly. “Thanks.” He lets his arms hang limp at his sides and paces around the cluttered room. He thinks about the half-completed verse and mentally plays around with a few different ways to describe the metaphors.

Ray stoops down to pick up his notebook. “No problem. You looked like you were about to scream there.”

Gerard shrugs. “I could have dealt with it for a few more minutes.”

“You don’t have to.”

Yes he does. He has to push himself to be just as good—no, _better_ —so that he can be treated like a normal musician. He can’t let this hold him back. He needs to pretend everything is fine for the band’s sake. For Mikey and Otter. For Ray. They all deserve the best.

Gerard hasn’t replied, so Ray starts talking again.

“I don’t know much about the shit you go through, but. You know you don’t have to suffer alone. That’s like the opposite of what we’re trying to do with this band, isn’t it?” 

Ray has a point. But Gerard thinks it’s more important to help kids with depression by writing life-changing music. At least he’s not taking on their feelings like some kind of emotional Messiah. He’s just dealing with joint pain. The music can save kids’ lives. It’s already started to save Gerard’s life from his depression. 

“Just tell me when things are really bad,” Ray finishes.

“Yeah,” Gerard says. “I’ll do that.”

**See**

Gerard puts more effort into hiding his expressions when he’s crossed into excruciating pain territory. He can’t just walk out on everyone, so he tries to shut down and avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.

Ray seems to match his efforts by noticing even the tiniest hints. Even when Gerard thinks he has everyone fooled, Ray speaks up and distracts Mikey and Otter long enough for Gerard to be at ease. Looking back on some of the incidents, Gerard can’t even remember showing any evidence of his physical state. At times like these, he wonders if Ray’s just guessing; although, Ray’s interjections almost always come at the right time.

Ray even drags Gerard to a 24-hour pharmacy after practice one evening so they can get replacements for a pair of braces when they start falling apart from the daily abuse and sweat. Gerard doesn’t let Ray pay for them, so Ray buys an extra pack of cigarettes instead. They don’t talk about it on the drive back.

Days after that, Gerard realizes that he hasn’t whined about his EDS to Mikey in weeks. Instead, he’s been sitting next to Ray in his sparse amount of free time. He’s drawing superheroes with power gauntlets in between pages of lyrics in notebooks while Ray hums and makes music beside him.

**Oh**

The evening before their first show, Gerard gets much drunker than intended. He doesn’t think it’s going to make much of a difference, seeing as how the others had almost the same amount. More, in Mikey’s case. They’ll be fine. He’s okay.

Ray stops him before he can start unloading. He grabs Gerard’s forearm and points at it.

“Didn’t you say you were planning on taking that off?”

Right.

“Almost forgot,” Gerard mutters, moving out of Ray’s hold. He doesn’t bother with the straps and instead hooks a finger into the thumb hole to drag the brace off his left arm. He drops it on the front passenger seat and repeats the motions for the right side.

Then he turns around and drags Ray into a loose hug. His arms feel like cooked spaghetti and he hopes the loose sensation sticks with him throughout the performance. It’ll suck a lot less for him and he’ll be able to throw a lot more energy into singing. He needs that energy if he’s going to convince a room full of kids that their band is special.

“Thanks, Ray,” Gerard says with a mouthful of Ray’s short curly hair. It feels mostly clean, though it’s probably going to be soaked with sweat by the end of the night. Gerard’s fuzzy brain briefly wonders what that would feel like.

“Just looking out for you,” Ray replies, patting Gerard’s back twice.

They break apart and find Otter laughing at Mikey for carrying too much to be able to open the door. Gerard takes some things out of Mikey’s arms and Ray props open the door with a broken cement block.

Gerard forgets about what happened with Ray until they’re leaving and he ends up sitting on his previously discarded supports. He falls asleep halfway through putting them back on. But when he wakes up hungover, aching, and fully-clothed the next morning, both of the braces are comfortably snug on his wrists.

His head hurts too much to wonder why.

**My**

Gerard has never given Frank an explanation for the braces and Frank has never asked. At least, he’s never asked Gerard personally. He may have gone to Mikey or Ray about them after seeing Gerard wearing them at every practice yet taking them off for performances.

He’s going to wait until Frank confronts him about it, or until Gerard feels ready to tell him. It’s not hurting anyone whether or not he reveals the truth. But Frank has a right to know (if he wants), since he’s joining the band. 

Gerard doesn’t have to wait long. Two days into recording, Frank asks if Gerard got carpal tunnel syndrome from drawing. Gerard corrects him and goes over the basics. 

Frank pokes at Gerard’s weird fingers and says, “I thought you were double-jointed.” When he’s done connecting the dots between Gerard’s Weirdness and Gerard’s Shitty Disability, he steps away. His mouth is split in a grin. 

“What?”

“It’s really cool how you don’t let it affect your stage presence. Or performance. Whatever. Man, you’re dedicated.”

Later, Frank crashes into Gerard onstage. Gerard falls onto his back and Frank skins his elbow. Ray looks at them both in concern, but nobody stops playing or singing. Gerard grins up at Ray.

**Agony**

“The kids aren’t going to think any less of you if you wear those onstage,” Ray says, almost too quiet for Gerard to hear.

But Gerard does hear. He’s not as drunk as Ray thinks he is. They’re slumped together, leaned against the cold window of the van. Gerard is close to falling asleep, but he’s been expecting Ray to shove him aside and complain about his stench before that happens. He wasn’t expecting Ray to talk about much else.

Gerard doesn’t want to have this conversation. He’s not prepared for it. He opens his eyes and looks at the trash and dirty clothes littering the floor of the van. They’re still a new band. Kids are learning their songs and showing up at multiple shows. Some people find them after the shows and talk about their own battles with depression. 

They’re making a difference.

He doesn’t want that to end.

“It might even be good for some people to see it.” Ray adds. 

“People should talk about our music,” Gerard argues quietly. “Not me and my thing. I just want to, you know, deliver the message. Help them out.”

“Alright.”

Gerard peels himself away from Ray and twists around to look at him. “Why are you bringing this up?”

Ray shrugs. “It’s going to start getting harder to avoid cameras when you need those on.”

“Then I’ll stop wearing them during the day. Just when I’m sleeping.” Gerard slides away from Ray on the seat. Ray looks out the window.

“Don’t torture yourself to do this.”

Gerard crosses his arms and closes his eyes. He pretends to sleep until the rumble of the van’s tires over asphalt lulls him into slumber.

About a week later, they’re buying food and beer with some of the funds left over after they fill up the gas tank and set aside emergency cash for when the van inevitably breaks down again. 

Ray shoves a shopping bag at Gerard. Inside are two boxes containing extra-padded braces. For night sleep support. They look so comfortable. Like motherfucking _pillows_. Gerard drops the bag and throws his arms around Ray, squeezing tightly.

“Thank you,” he tells Ray’s much-longer hair. “I’m an asshole and you’re the best friend I could ever hope for.”

Ray chuckles and wraps his arms around Gerard’s torso. “The ones you wear during the day are getting disgusting. I know these will turn fucking rancid after a week or two, but the label on the box says you can wash them.”

Gerard tries to count the days it’s been since he’s even seen a washing machine. Ray’s hair tickling his face reminds him that they’re still hugging, so he drops those thoughts in favor of letting Ray go and backing away to a respectable distance. It’s still pretty close considering how personal space is determined in the van. 

Ray picks the bag off the ground and hands it back to Gerard, who holds it tight to his chest for a long moment. He beams a wide smile at Ray.

“Shit, Ray, I need to get you something awesome in return for this.”

“You don’t have to. It’s a gift.”

Gerard prods at Ray all afternoon, even when they head back to the bus, but all Ray gives him is “more music,” “a chance to tell either Brian May or Randy Rhodes how cool they are,” and “a signature guitar.” The second two are impossible for Gerard to consider right now, but he still writes all three requests down in one of his notebooks, above a drawing of a mutated monster petting zoo.

He still wants to do _something_ to thank Ray, so Gerard buys him coffee for five days in a row. The sixth day, the van pops a tire and Mikey uses Gerard’s coffee/cigarette/beer money to help pay for the tow truck.

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the most personal piece of fanfiction I've ever written. Ehlers-Danlos syndrome is a very rare and **very shitty** disorder. (And it's often misdiagnosed.) My mother has it, both of her parents had it, and all of my siblings have it. I'm the idiot who still wants to write despite my body torturing me for every attempt. 
> 
> There are a couple different forms of EDS, which range from hypermobility/hyperelasticity (which I have) to frequent dislocations and muscle failure. I wrote Gerard having the same type that I have because I know what it feels like. I guess this is sort of a vent fic in that regard.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
